Tarkin

Fair game

AS THE GUNSHIP SPED back toward the center of the city, Tarkin, gazing on the devastation, thought: This might have been Eriadu had he not warned the planetary leadership that supporting Dooku would have meant inviting cataclysm.

Not every member of the planet’s ruling body had agreed with him, but in the end he’d gotten his way and Eriadu had remained loyal to the Republic. For Tarkin, though, the stewardship of his homeworld had come to an end. When word of his decision not to seek reelection became known, his aging and by then ailing father had summoned him to the family compound for a frank conversation.

“Politics hasn’t been enough of a battleground for you?” his father had asked from the bed to which he was confined, his body punctured by feeding tubes and shunts. The view out the large window took in nearly all of the calm bay.

“More than enough,” Tarkin said from a chair beside the bed. “But the immigration issues are solved, the economy is back on track, and our world is now thought of as a Core world in the Outer Rim.” The adjoining room of the master suite had been transformed into a kind of intensive care unit, with a bacta tank and a team of medical droids standing by in the event the elder Tarkin should desire resuscitation.

“Granted,” his father said. “That, however, does not mean that your work is done. A lot of people worked very hard to get you in office.”

“I’ve done what I set out to accomplish and paid them back in full,” Tarkin said more harshly than he intended. “Some more than they even deserve.” He fell silent for a moment, then added: “I’m exasperated by having to appease so many separate interests and fight to have laws passed and enacted. Politics is worse than a theater of war.”

His father snorted. “This from someone who has always preached the importance of law and rule by fear.”

“That hasn’t changed. But it has to be on my terms. What’s more, Eriadu’s internal problems scarcely matter in the present scheme of things. When I met last with Dooku, he made it sound as though galactic war is both inevitable and imminent.”

“And why wouldn’t he? In his determination to persuade you to throw in with his Separatists, he would make use of enticement, threats, whatever it takes.”

Tarkin thought back through his recent conversation with the count, and shook his head. “There was something else on his mind, but I couldn’t pry it from him. It was almost as if he was offering me an opportunity to join some secret fraternity of beings who are actually responsible for this mess.”

His father seemed to consider it. “What will you do, then? Wait for the Republic to instate a military and enlist?” He shook his head in disgust. “You served in Outland, you served in the Judicial Department. Enlistment would be a backward step just when Eriadu needs you most. Especially if this schism leads to war. Who will be able to keep Eriadu safe should it fall to Dooku’s forces?”

“That’s precisely the point. There’s only so much one can do with words and arguments.”

“So you’ll race to the light of the lasers. Wasn’t that what you used to exclaim as an Outland commander?” His father managed a rueful laugh. “You may as well adopt it as a personal motto.”

“Death or renown, Father. I am, after all, your son.”

“So you are,” his father said, slowly nodding his head. “Has the supreme chancellor remarked on your decision?”

Tarkin nodded. “Palpatine is in my corner, as it were.”

“I was afraid of that.” His father regarded him for a long moment. “I urge you think back to the Carrion, Wilhuff. When a pride’s territory is threatened, the dominant beast stands its ground. It doesn’t run off to enlist in a larger cause. You must think of Eriadu itself as the plateau.”

Tarkin stared out the window, and then turned to face his father. “Jova told me a story that bears on my decision. Long before you were born — long before even Jova was born — a group of developers had designs on the Carrion and all those resource-rich lands the Tarkin family had amassed. Our ancestors initially attempted to resolve the matter peacefully. They attempted to placate the developers with credits. At one point, as Jova tells it, they were even prepared to offer the developers all the lands north of the Orrineswa River clear to Mount Veermok, but their offer was rejected in the strongest terms. For the developers, it was either the entire plateau and all the surrounding territory or none at all.”

His father smiled weakly. “I know how this story ended.”

Tarkin smiled back at him. “The Tarkins understood that they weren’t going to keep their adversaries at bay by posting NO TRESPASSING signs or encircling the Carrion with plasma fences. Giving all evidence that they were prepared to capitulate, they lured the leadership of the conglomerate to the bargaining table.”

“And assassinated them to a man,” his father said.

“To a man. And that was the end of it.”

His father took a deep breath and loosed a stuttering exhale. “I understand. But you’re naïve to think that the Republic has the guts to do that with Dooku and the rest. Mark my words, this war will drag on and on until every world pays a price. And I’m glad I won’t be around to see that happen.”

The ambassador to Murkhana was waiting at the top of the ornate stairway that fronted the principal building of the Imperial compound. A tall, broad-shouldered woman, she was dressed appropriately for Murkhana, Tarkin thought, in that she was sporting stormtrooper armor.

Seemingly unable to decide whether to salute or bow as he and Vader approached, she simply spread her arms in a welcoming gesture and adopted a cynical smile. Murkhana’s acid rain and soupy air had taken a toll on her hair and complexion, but she appeared otherwise healthy.

“Welcome, Lord Vader and Governor Tarkin. I was aware that Coruscant was sending an investigative team, but I had no idea—”

“Has the operative arrived?” Vader interrupted.

She gestured to the residence with a flick of her head. “Inside. I summoned him as soon as I received your comm.”

“Show us to him.”

She spun on her boot heels and made for the reinforced front door, two stormtroopers flanking the entrance stepping aside and saluting Vader and Tarkin as they passed. The entry hall and main room of the residence were sparsely furnished, and the dry air was artificially scented. A Koorivarn male taller than Tarkin and draped in tattered robes stood silently behind a curved couch. His cranial horn was of average size for his species, but his facial ridges were marred by intersecting scars.

The ambassador gestured for Vader and Tarkin to sit, but they declined.

“May I at least offer you something to—”

“Tell me, Ambassador,” Vader interrupted again, “do you ever leave this compound of yours, with its high sensor-studded walls and company of armed sentries?

“Of course.”

“Then no doubt you have seen the obscene scrawlings and defacements displayed on every other building between here and this planet’s wretched excuse for a spaceport.”

She showed him a sardonic look. “My lord, as quickly as I have them expunged, new ones spring up.”

“And what of the criminal rabble that cluster on every corner?” Tarkin asked.

She laughed shortly. “They proliferate even more quickly than the defacements, Governor Tarkin. The moment Black Sun moved out, the Crymorah moved in.”

“The Crymorah,” Vader said.

“Actually a local affiliate known as the Sugi.”

Vader seemed to tuck the information away.

“You need to make an example of them,” Tarkin said.

The ambassador looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You think I haven’t tried?”

Tarkin cocked an eyebrow. “Meaning what, exactly?”

She started to reply, then blew out her breath and began again. “I’ve made appeal after appeal to Moff Therbon for additional stormtroopers, to no avail.”

“And if we see to it that you have additional resources, you’ll do what must be done?”

She continued to regard Tarkin with skepticism. “Excuse me, Governor, but I don’t think you understand the situation fully. Officiating here has been like serving a sentence for a crime I didn’t commit. The stormtroopers have a saying, Better spaced than based on Belderone, and we’re a far cry from Belderone.” She blew out her breath. “Yes, I can leave this compound, but my life is at risk whenever I do. Hence, the white wardrobe.” She glanced between Tarkin and Vader. “Maybe you two haven’t noticed, but Murkhana isn’t Coruscant. The population here hates me. I sometimes think Murkhana hates me. I’m held responsible for every Imperial tax increase and every minor change to the legal system. The smugglers are the only ones who garner respect, because they’re the only ones providing goods — even if at exorbitant rates. As for the crime lords, they’re the only ones powerful enough to provide protection from the thieves and murderers this planet has bred since the war ended.”

Vader took a step in her direction. “I will be sure to let the Emperor know of your dissatisfaction, Ambassador.”

She didn’t retreat. “I sure as hell wish someone would. I mean, I’m humbled that the Emperor deemed me worthy to serve him, but this assignment—”

Vader thrust his forefinger at her. “Allowing a cell of dissidents to operate under your watch is not what I would call serving the Emperor, Ambassador.”

“Dissidents?” She shook her head in genuine bewilderment. “I don’t understand.”

Instead of explaining, Vader turned his attention to the Koorivar. “You are the intelligence asset?”

“I am Bracchia,” the Koorivar said in little more than a whisper.

Tarkin knew that it was nothing more than a code name, but it was the only name Deputy Director Harus Ison had been willing to provide. “You were a Republic operative during the war.”

Bracchia nodded. “I was, Governor Tarkin. I assisted in your anti-Shadowfeed operation here.”

Tarkin adopted a thin-lipped expression of wariness. “Tell us about the Corporate Alliance building — the former medcenter.”

The Koorivar nodded in deference. “Before entering, I watched the building every day for a week, Governor Tarkin. When I determined it to be unoccupied, I entered and made a quick inventory of the devices as directed.”

“As directed?” Tarkin asked in surprise.

But before Bracchia could respond, Vader said, “You entered how?”

The Koorivar turned to him. “Through sliding doors, Lord Vader. I’m not aware of any other entrance, and the devices were just where I was told I would find them.”

“How could you fail to notice the turbolift?” Vader said.

The Koorivar looked at the floor. “My apologies, Lord Vader. I was fixated on investigating the devices.”

Tarkin placed himself deliberately between Bracchia and Vader. “Are you saying that you didn’t make the discovery on your own?”

“No, Governor, I did not. I was merely tasked with verifying a report sent to me from Coruscant.”

Tarkin’s brow furrowed. “From Imperial Security?”

Bracchia nodded. “From my case officer at ISB, yes.”

Tarkin had his mouth open to pursue the matter when his comlink sounded and he prized the device from its belt pouch.

“We’re at the building, Governor Tarkin.”

Tarkin recognized the voice of Sergeant Crest. “At what building?”

“Back at the Corporate Alliance building, sir.”

“You’re not at the landing field?”

Crest took a moment to reply. “Sir, you told us to return here after we’d off-loaded the devices at the corvette.”

“Who told you?”

“You, sir.” Crest sounded as confused as Tarkin.

“I sent no such orders, Sergeant.”

“Excuse me, sir, but the order came by holotransmission from you just after we’d transferred the last of the devices you marked for the ship. Without the gunship, we had to commandeer an airspeeder at the landing field.”

“Who is with the ship?” Vader stepped in to say toward the comlink’s audio pickup.

“Two of our group, Lord Vader, in addition to the corvette’s captain and comm officer.”

Tarkin felt blood rush from his face. “Sergeant, return to the ship immediately.”

“On our way, sir.”

Vader looked at Tarkin while he was contacting the Carrion Spike’s captain. “A second feature from the makers of the false holovid transmitted to the moon base?”

“In which I am now the principal actor,” Tarkin said, trying not to sound too rattled. Checking the comlink again, he added: “I can’t raise the ship.”

“That happens all the time, Governor Tarkin,” the ambassador said. “If it’s not the city’s power grid, it’s the communications array.”

He glanced at her with his mouth open, an uneasy feeling beginning to coil in his chest. Fingers dancing over the comlink’s keypad, he opened a second channel that allowed him to communicate with the corvette itself, and entered a code that commanded the Carrion Spike’s slave system to prevent anyone from so much as approaching the ship. But the system didn’t respond.

“Nothing,” he said to Vader. “Not from the command cabin, not from the ship itself.”

Vader whirled on the ambassador. “Contact Coruscant by HoloNet immediately.”

She spread her hands in apology. “Lord Vader, Murkhana hasn’t had HoloNet communications since early in the Clone Wars.” She cut her eyes to Tarkin. “The HoloNet was destroyed during the first Republic assault.”

Tarkin recalled. The relay had been destroyed as a means of disrupting Dooku’s Shadowfeeds to worlds along the Perlemian Trade Route. His thoughts reeled.

“Send a subspace transmission,” Vader was saying.

“Governor Tarkin,” Crest said from the comlink, “we’re back at the landing field.” He fell silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again his voice betrayed astonishment. “Sir, the Carrion Spike is nowhere in sight.”

Tarkin stared at the comlink. “What?”

“It’s not here, sir. It must have launched.”

“Impossible!” Tarkin said.

“Where are your troopers, Sergeant?” Vader all but snarled.

Again the reply was long in arriving. “Lord Vader, we have a visual on four bodies — two stormtroopers, the captain, and the comm officer.” Crest paused, then added, “Shot through and through, Lord Vader.”

Vader clenched his right hand. “You’ve failed me for the last time, Sergeant.”

“I get that, sir,” Crest said in a somber voice.

Vader turned to Tarkin. “We sidestepped the smaller trap only to fall into the larger one, Governor. If nothing else, we now know the reason we were lured here.” Bringing his left hand to the brow of his helmet, he paced away from Tarkin and the ambassador, then swung back to them. “The ship is still in the Murkhana system.”

Tarkin didn’t waste time asking how Vader knew that to be the case. Instead, he glanced at one of the stormtroopers. “The Judicial cruiser at the landing field.”

The stormtrooper shook his head in a mournful way. “Not spaceworthy, sir. We’ve been waiting on replacement parts for the hyperdrive motivator for three months, local.”

“I know where to procure a ship,” Vader said abruptly. He swept his arm in a gesture aimed at the stormtroopers. “All of you — come with me.” Then he turned and pointed to Bracchia. “And you.”

Tarkin fell in among them as they hastened from the ambassador’s residence.

Tarkin had his doubts.

At Lola Sayu, when Skywalker, Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano had participated in rescuing him from the Citadel, Tarkin had taken issue with the Jedi strategy of splitting into two teams. Surrendering group integrity for twice the number of potential problems made little sense, and that was precisely the way the mission had unfolded. Tarkin’s general, Even Piell, had been killed, and the rest of them had nearly fallen back into the clutches of the Citadel’s sadistic Separatist prison warden. Now, all these years later, Vader had split their forces, and here they were allowing themselves to be herded at blasterpoint into the den of a Sugi crime lord while the stormtroopers were elsewhere in Murkhana City carrying out their part of Vader’s plan.

So Tarkin had his doubts.

But with the Carrion Spike apparently in the hands of shipjackers, and his captain, comm officer, and two stormtroopers dead, he had little choice but to go along with the subterfuge, in the hope that it would succeed.

“I still don’t like splitting up the team,” he said to Vader as one of the Sugi was shoving him from behind.

Vader glanced over at him, but as ever it was impossible to tell what was going on behind the black orbs and muzzle of his mask.

The headquarters building was in better condition than most in Murkhana City, its graceful swirls of coral and undersea colors having either survived the war or been restored since. Initially Tarkin had taken the Sugi for an insectile species, but in fact they were short bipeds who affected armored powersuits. The suits provided them with a second set of legs and a segmented, barb-tipped abdomen, which gave them the appearance of mythological creatures. The soldiers, at any rate. Others in the dank hall Vader and Tarkin were escorted into stood on their own two feet and wore cowl-like helmets, with power packs of some sort on their backs. The outsized helmets made their large-eyed skeletal faces seem even smaller than they were.

Twenty soldiers complemented the half dozen who were holding weapons on Vader and Tarkin, with several repurposed Separatist battle droids augmenting the hall group. Their apparent leader lounged on a gaudy throne of coral, clicking orders to his minions.

Vader came to a halt five meters from the throne and spent a moment taking in the overstated surroundings. “You have done well for yourself since the demise of your former competitor, crime lord,” he said at last.

“And for that I owe you a debt of gratitude, Lord Vader,” the Sugi answered in heavily accented Basic. “That is the sole reason I have allowed you entry to my abode — to thank you personally for killing my predecessor and persuading Black Sun to abandon Murkhana for safer realms.”

“You are as insolent as he was, crime lord.”

“Given that I enjoy the upper hand here, Lord Vader, I can well afford to be.”

Vader folded his arms across his massive chest. “Don’t be too sure of yourself.”

The Sugi dismissed the warning. “I have been apprised by my associates of your prowess, Lord Vader. But I doubt that even you could triumph over so many.” When Vader said nothing, he continued: “Now, what is this drivel about commandeering my starship?”

Tarkin stepped forward to speak. “We take your meaning about being outnumbered. But perhaps there’s a healthier way to persuade you to do as Lord Vader asks.”

The Sugi’s large eyes expanded. “I have not had the pleasure …”

“Meet Moff Tarkin, crime lord,” Vader said. “Sector governor of Greater Seswenna and more.”

The Sugi sat back in his chair. “Now I am impressed. That Murkhana should play host to two such luminary Imperials … Though many might say I would be doing the galaxy a favor by eliminating you here and now.” He fixed his gaze on Tarkin. “But you were saying, Governor Tarkin …”

“That in meetings of this nature there are always alternatives to using brute force.”

“I can’t imagine any alternatives that will convince me to surrender my fanged beauty of a starship, Governor Tarkin.”

Cautiously, Tarkin drew a portable holoprojector disk from the pocket of his tunic. “If I may?”

The Sugi waved permission.

“Sergeant Crest,” Vader said toward the device. “Are you in the crime lord’s warehouse?”

“Yes, Lord Vader. Ready to bring the entire place down on your command.”

“Then you have redeemed yourself, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, Lord Vader.”

The crime lord’s expression approximated entertainment. “You can’t be serious. Or do you actually believe that I would surrender my ship for a warehouse full of weapons?”

“Your Crymorah associates on Coruscant might encourage you to do just that.”

“I’ll take my chances, Lord Vader.”

“You’re right of course,” Tarkin said quickly. “But just now your warehouse contains more than weapons. We’ve arranged for your wives and brood to be present as well.” He called up an image of the Sugi’s family members huddled in a circle on the warehouse floor and surrounded by stormtroopers with raised weapons. “We understand that you are very attached to them. A product of your genetics, I suspect.”

“You wouldn’t!” the Sugi said.

His earlier doubts about Vader’s plan beginning to fade, Tarkin lifted an arrogant eyebrow. “Wouldn’t we?”

The Sugi fidgeted in apprehension. “I can have both of you killed where you stand!”

“We’ll take our chances,” Tarkin said, grinning slightly. “Your ship for their lives.”

After a long moment of rapid clicking and nervous hand wringing, the Sugi broke the tense silence. “All right, take the ship! I will purchase a replacement. I will purchase twenty replacements. Just let them live — let them live!”

Tarkin’s face grew deadly serious. “You’ll need to furnish us with all the necessary launch codes and order all of your underlings to leave the landing field at once.”

“Then I will do it,” the crime lord said. “Whatever you ask!”

Vader leaned slightly in the direction of the comlink. “Sergeant Crest, transport the crime lord’s family to the landing field and let me know when your troops are in possession of his ship.”

“Let them live,” the Sugi repeated, rising halfway out of his throne in supplication.

“Take heart,” Tarkin said. “They most certainly will survive you.”